External Use Only
by liquid-thought
Summary: Dean would never think of the phrase 'splatter of paint' the same way again.


Dean ran one finger down the bridge of Samandriel's nose, tracing across the pale skin slowly. The edge of his nail scraped along pale lips, parting the lower as he kept going along his chin, his throat. Castiel was on the other side with the tray of paint, sloppy colors spilled over all three of them. A trail of Prussian blue and Chinese white watercolor was left in the wake of Dean's touch and he laughed a little at how absurd it was. College students doing finger painting. Of course, this was a little more involved than finger painting.

The three of them were completely naked, using sixteen dollar tubes because Samandriel's uncle Balthazar didn't give a shit about dollar signs, just wanted to see the grades.

Castiel ran off their huge canvas, footprints a mix of Lascaux yellow and Alizarin crimson as he all but pranced to one of the work tables. Dean's ass had left its mark in five different spots, the first one done using three tubes of Manganese blue hue. It was on the bottom right corner. On the second they mixed in hooker's green and Cas took every opportunity to joke about the summer they'd spent at his dad's lake house, Dean joking that he'd pay his way in sex if it meant they let him sleep in.

Dean looked around the expanse of their work and wondered if anyone would recognize the third print. On the upper right hand corner there was a blue-ish green smear that was accompanied by cadmium yellow lemon. The colors bled up into the transparent red oxide across his shoulder blades. Cas had fucked him first, Samandriel making some offhand remark that _this is what Cervantes meant about bad painters vomiting the nature of life _and it made both of them laugh right until Cas slid in.

As much as Samandriel tried to keep himself separated and professional, there was something raw and feral about seeing the paint slide and mix, hearing the wet noises combined with Dean and Castiel's voices. There was a small mark next to that corner done in gold ochre that only the three of them would know was the head of Samandriel's cock. It dragged over and up, disappearing before another mark was made below it. Wide, black and stark against all the other colors. A long stripe of cobalt violet on the right and ultramarine pink on the left bracketed it. They mingled together at the edges, cloudy and gray from where Dean repositioned when he was close.

The fourth print was behind the black of Samandriel's back, just under the gold ochre and mixed with a dark turquoise to hide the dribbles of all-natural white.

Dean left six hand prints between that and the fifth down toward the bottom center. Cas was determined to wipe some of the paint off, then covered his own hand in cadmium red deep and laid a bright spank across both cheeks. Dean sat and laughed, trying not to smear too much.

They both pulled him up, then proceeded to fall down laughing because the print was not only blurred, but the top half was two inches from the bottom. Cas said he wasn't sure he'd _be able to look at this without thinking about spanking someone_. To which Dean said that was fine, as long it he only thought about spanking him.

Samandriel pulled them both into a kiss, Castiel crawled over and put a tray of mixed blue and white for Dean to have. He dipped his finger in and marked Samandriel.

Now Castiel was walking back with a tube of carmine and maybe Dean was losing it, but the depth of the red was turning him on again, thinking about it rubbed all across Samandriel's front as Dean fucked him.

They were all getting hard, thoughts headed to the same place. Dean wiped Samandriel's back down, not all of the black coming off, but enough to satisfy. They crawled to the left, settling down in the center as Cas put small dabs of pigment in his palm. They were slathered across Samandriel's chest and down his abdomen. Dean smirked and called him _Danté_, Cas playfully chided him for being _stuck in the classics_.

Cas put some in Dean's hand and he silently thanked Rembrandt that none of them had sensitive skin. The paint started drying too quickly, causing Cas to get up to find lube somewhere in the studio. Samandriel chuckled and snarked that if _oils didn't smell so bad it would easier to use those_. Dean kissed a crack in the black film over pale skin. In his mind he could see the image of a salt flat, hot and open and shimmering.

No more yellow or red was tracked when Cas came scampering back, lube in hand and a smile on his face. Dean worked his way in and tangled their fingers together. The cross was almost unintelligible when Samandriel lifted up after, their bodies still joined, there was a blue smudge above it that would always make Dean hear _oh God_ in a gently trembling voice. Cas covered his hand in viridian and smacked hard, splatters and flecks of green flying all over.

By the time they finished the sun was setting and all three of them were completely coated in varying stages of drying paint, their hair matted down in rainbow splotches. Dean grabbed a hose and his boyfriends looked horrified but relented to the cold wash. They glanced back periodically, watching the paint as it stopped glistening, their activities permanent on the canvas, the stray lines and bright marks from their bodies.

It was loved at the show, remarked for feeling natural and looking raw. When asked how he managed to capture the wild emotion displayed over the five feet of fabric, Samandriel blushed and smiled, trying not to let the memories overtake as he stated that all it took was _a couple friends to expand the perspective_.

Then his teacher, Gabe said it looked _like someone dragged their dick across the upper end_ and Samandriel almost had a heart attack.


End file.
